Full Force
by SimonWi
Summary: When a terrorist organisation threatens national and world security, a specialist task force is set up to combat them. A new take on the Origins story. Third chapter been posted, and two more to come following one last look through. Hope to have them up in the next day or two. All reviews/comments/constructive criticism appreciated. Rated T for some violence and swearing
1. Chapter 1 - The Snake Bites

CHAPTER ONE - The Snake Bites

Across the nice little town of Springfield, the people lived their lives. Some of those people were walking home after a hard day at work. Others shared a kiss with significant others as they talked about what the evening what might bring. Children laughed and yelled as they played on a new artificial ice rink, with spectators clapping and cheering along. There were people of different ages and different genders, different colours and different creeds, but in one way they were all the same. None of them knew their lives lay in the power of one word spoken by one man.

The Man himself was nowhere near the town. He was housed in a building of glass and steel on a large anonymous island that was not on any maps, beyond any country's legal jurisdiction and, by the magic of technology, hidden from radar and satellite. He sat in near-darkness, the only light coming from a row of monitors. They were linked to hacked CCTV feeds streaming images of the chosen areas in grainy monochrome. The man stared, sure in his belief it was time to teach the world his truth - the only truth that mattered. He switched on a mobile phone and put it to his ear.

"Proceed."

The word had been spoken.

The Man hung up the phone and resumed watching the monitors. The images stayed consistent for a few short minutes, then all at once, the monitors were filled with a flash of light. The Man closed his eyes and bathed in the light. He saw it as the birth of his World Order. The light subsided as vanished as the CCTV feed died. Phase one was complete.

The Man opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a blue hood. He pulled it over his head and adjusted it so he could see perfectly. The hood sat snug on the top of his head, but hung loose around his face so the contours of his face could not be seen. He pressed a button and the door of an elevator opened. Another man was standing in the elevator. He was of Japanese ethnicity, hair slicked back and eyes narrow. He was dressed in a white shirt and matching trousers. A silk bandage was wrapped around the length of his right forearm and a katana sword was sheathed over his back. The Man entered the elevator and the two men descended to the lower levels. They stepped out of the elevator into a small room where several technicians were readying a camera and preparing an audio and visual feed. Two other men raised a blue banner with an insignia of a snake in red. The technicians looked up to see the two men waiting. The Lead Technician, the only one wearing a set of headphones, stood at attention.

"Is everything ready?" asked The Man.

"Almost," said the Lead Technician.

"Almost?"

"There is a problem with the voice software. We will need to use a voice box to keep on schedule."

The Man stared at the technicians, eyes unblinking. The he nodded. One of the technicians approached with a small grey box in his hand. The Man raised the hood, exposing his throat and the lower part of his face. The Technician attached the voice box and stepped away. The Man pulled his hood down then brushed down his blue leather tunic. He took an extra few moments to trail a finger over the snake insignia in the centre, then sat in a chair in front of the banner and camera. He took one last moment to concentrate; to realise he was there. Then he nodded to the operators and stared into the camera.

"Leaders of the world," he said, his voice a cold, inhuman drone. "You now know of us. You now know of our strength. There are soldiers and cells who believe as I do, and are ready to show her power again, and again, and again. This is the beginning of the new era, the era of Cobra. We are Cobra." He paused. "And I… am The Commander."

The Commander pulled the grey box that distorted his voice and threw it on the ground.

"I trust there was no problems?" The promise of repercussions should the answer not meet the one he expected was clear in the cold tone of his voice.

"None at all, Commander," said the Head Technician. "It was transmitted with audio and visual clear."

"And my face was not seen." It was a statement, not a question.

The Technicians all muttered their assurances but The Commander ignored them as he re-entered the elevator. The group of technicians watched the doors close. They did not see the Man in White silently move up behind them, katana raised to strike…


	2. Chapter 2 - Cold Hard Truths

_One Month Later_

Colonel Clayton 'Hawk' Abernathy sat alone in the small, basic grey and beige office within the aircraft hangar, waiting for his superior. The plane had only just touched down but debriefing was paramount. The bombings of just a few short weeks ago had everyone from the highest Generals to the lowest Privates on edge, so Hawk was in the office, still in his stained and dusty battle fatigues, ready to report. He could smell and feel the sweat and grime in his cropped blonde hair and all over his skin and was thankful that there was a bottle of water to clean the worst of it off his face. He heard a knock on the door and looked up to see the door open. General Lawrence J. Flagg entered clothed in full dress greens, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a hat under his arm. Hawk couldn't see Flagg's eyes as they were covered by dark sunglasses, but he tell the General was feeling the strain. Flagg was still in prime shape considering his advancing years and the desk-based nature of his duties, but Hawk could see his shoulders, normally perfectly straight, were sagging slightly. He stood and saluted his superior.

"At ease Hawk," said Flagg, offering his free hand.

Hawk took the hand. "Been a while Sir."

"If only it was under better circumstances. Pure luck I was passing through the area to talk to you as it is."

Flagg motioned to the entrance and a woman standing in front of the now closed door. She stood at attention with her hands behind her back, blue eyes alert. She was dressed in casual a khaki shirt and combat trousers and her red hair was tied into a ponytail.

"This is Sergeant Shana O'Hara," said Flagg. "She's acting as my chauffer."

O'Hara nodded in greeting. "Colonel."

Hawk returned the nod. "Sergeant? Little over-qualified for the job, aren't you?"

"Extra security Sir," said O'Hara. "Little extra experience can make all the difference sometimes."

"Top brass doesn't want anyone taking any chances," said Flagg. "So I chose her."

"She's that good?"

"She's that good."

Hawk didn't need to enquire further. General Lawrence J. Flagg didn't dole out compliments easy. They had to be earned.

"We should get down to business Hawk," said Flagg. "The top guns are wanting a full update with them double time, if not quicker."

Hawk nodded and both sat at the desk. Flagg pulled a folder of notes and documents out of his briefcase.

"So how did the mission go Hawk?" asked Flagg.

Hawk offered a slight smile. "We all made it back Sir. Ton of scrapes and bruises, but we all walked off the plane on our own time. I probably look the worst out of all of us."

Flagg returned the smile and the tension in his shoulders relaxed for just a few seconds. All too soon, he was focused on business again. "Did you find anything out?"

Hawk wished he could smile again, but he couldn't. The truth wasn't always for the good. "Plenty games of this guy said this, but nothing we could confirm," he said. "All I know is that even six months ago that Army did not have the weaponry they have now. I would say that Cobra got its claws in the Sierra Gordo war somehow."

Flagg sighed. "If it was up to me that would be enough, but your say-so alone counts for horseshoes and hand grenades in the grand scheme of things."

"Been any more calls?"

"None. That hooded bastard is back hiding under his rock."

"There anything at all, General?"

"Very little Hawk. Even their targets don't make sense. They got a mosque in New York, a church in Texas, a bank in D.C., and film studio in California and a munitions factory in Springfield."

Hawk ran his hand through his hair then rubbed it on his fatigues. "Ton of possible motivations. Take your pick and hope your gut doesn't let you down."

"Exactly," said Flagg. "Only thing we got for definite is that the bombs used were all the same design and made with the same parts, all set to detonate at exactly the same time. I'm too damn old to think it was just a coincidence. Cobra did 'em all."

"Christ," muttered Hawk. "The only thing we've been able to confirm and it's not even remotely positive."

"Damn straight." Flagg leaned back in his chair. "Whatever their reasons, this Cobra group were able to plan, co-ordinate and carry out five separate bombings over the country. Means they're well-funded, well-armed and well-organised."

"Bottom line, dangerous," said Hawk.

"Very, especially we know jack shit about them," said Flagg.

"Sorry I couldn't be more help Sir," said Hawk.

"You did what you could Hawk," said Flagg. "Just hope the big guns see it that way as well. They're getting tired of the talking and are itching for anything else. They're not the only ones."

"You heading to the Pentagon now?"

Flagg nodded. "Another flight. Spent more time in the air than not this past few weeks. That's where you come in."

"What can I do Sir?"

"Springfield are late with their reports," said Flag. "Town took longer to clean up due to the chemicals in the munitions factory. Go check the progress and report back with options going forward. Get it sent to me as encrypted as you can as soon as you can. Am I understood?"

"Yes Sir."

Flagg leaned over and patted Hawk on the shoulder. "Knew I could count on you. Scarlett will drive you around. Need any other staff, just go ahead and arrange it with my say-so."

"I'll do that Sir," said Hawk.

There was a knock on the door. Flagg stood and packed his case.

"My flight's coming in," he said.

Hawk stood and shook Flagg's hand again.

"Find something there Hawk," said Flagg. "Whatever Cobra are, right now they're winning. Please find something."

Hawk nodded. Flagg left the room with a nod to Scarlett, who saluted. She and Hawk looked at each other briefly.

"You heard the General," said Hawk. "Let's get to work."


	3. Chapter 3 - War Of Words

The private jet that was taking Flagg to the Pentagon had only just levelled out following take-off when the General switched on his laptop computer. He accessed his encrypted e-mails and the first one left him hurling obscenities at the screen. He immediately issued a request for an emergency live feed that was quickly granted. It only took a matter of minutes for Flagg to see a meeting room on his monitor. Three men were sitting around a large circular table. Flagg wasn't sure what the table was made of but he was sure that it exceeded the normal table budget by a good three figures. One of the men was opposite the small web camera being used by Flagg, the other two to the left and to the right. Flagg grunted when he saw who the three men were. Generals Malthus, Thurston and Crowther.

The three generals were all younger than Flagg. Thurston was the youngest by far, his dark hair only just beginning to show flecks of grey while his face had only a few lines of age and tough living compared t Flagg and the others. Crowther's hair was closely cropped, but offset by a thick bushy moustache that made him look older than he was. Malthus sat at the top, carrying himself as the man in command, though his once relatively trim frame was beginning to widen as a result of too many executive meals. In many ways the three men were equal to Flagg. They all wore the same bars of rank on neatly pressed uniforms and a had similar numbers of medals to their names. Officially, Flagg acknowledged them, but privately, he thought the medals and bars weren't worth the metal they were pressed from. Flagg considered himself old school in that he earned his rank and medals through sheer hard work, and believed these three had earned their rank in the meeting rooms rather than on the frontline, their advancements fast-tracked due to favours and connections from being photogenic and eloquent in a world of constant media coverage. Flagg couldn't see the trousers worn by the three men, but he was willing to bet a month's pay that the knees were worn and faded from the men being on them all the time, lips puckered to kiss the necessary asses. Flagg waited until Malthus was about to speak.

"What's with the time change?" he said.

The whole table looked round in surprise in the web cam. Malthus quickly turned in to a bright, but insincere smile.

"Lawrence," he said. "You heard of the schedule change."

"Little birdy told me. Lucky for me, right?"

"I'm sorry Lawrence," he said. "But things change fast."

"Don't they just," muttered Flagg."

"What do you expect us to do Flagg?" said Crowther as he scratched his moustache. "The world doesn't stop moving for you."

"I'm well aware of that. But fellow soldiers should be more understanding of the extenuating circumstances."

"Exactly while we moved," said Thurston. "Reports say that the air above Springfield is now within acceptable levels. Air's cleared of the toxins so we can move people back into their homes and get the industries going again. I'm sure you would agree the sooner the better."

Flagg tried to hide his surprise. "I've not seen that report, and it would be provisional at best. The most recent one I've seen still needed the results checked and verified."

"Several independent reports listed a steady decline over the last month," said Malthus. "Ours, provisional or not, is saying that it's now at point zero. I would say it's safe."

"Just like that?" asked Flagg. "It's only been a month since the attacks. Can we honestly say it's safe…"

"And let the bastards that did it win?" asked Thurston. "The best way to show we're not afraid is to get back to normal. Like we always have done."

"But so quickly?"

"It's been decided," said Malthus. "We've made our recommendations to Senator Hegel, and he's put forward the same to the President."

Flagg audibly breathed in through his teeth when he heard the name. Senator Hegel was the Next Big Thing in politics, a mixture of all-American blonde hair and blue eyes. His easy-going charisma mixed in well with a small-town, blue-collar Man Of The People image and a smart mind with sound bites to match. The last month had seen Hegel on the television non-stop saying the right things and doing the good thing. His word carried far more power than Flagg's ever could.

"It's a bad idea," said Flagg,

"It's simple Lawrence." Malthus stared straight into the camera. "When things stay stagnant they begin to stink of decay, and we can't have that with industries important to the country."

"Especially when there's vested interests?" asked Flagg. "Of the monetary kind?"

Thurston and Crowther tensed at Flagg's words. Malthus was unmoved.

"What matters is that we get the people back home, back into work and the local economy going again," he said. "People on the street want that as much as any shareholder in the munitions company does. The world's grown smaller Flagg. Slow and safe doesn't work in big business."

"Your way of thinking's over Old Man," said Thurston. "If you don't change, you go extinct."

"So to put it simple, Flagg," said Malthus. "The decisions have been made and approved. And you can't change it. This meeting is over."

The monitor went blank with Flagg considering putting his fist through it. He had always considered his duty the most important thing other than his family and he could never let ambition rank higher. He thought it impossible for the two to mix. But those three seemed to juggle them perfectly, and had gained far more influence as a result. However, Flagg knew there would come a point where those two would clash with repercussions that would harm others before Malthus, Thurston and Crowther. Flagg knew he had to prepare, just in case. He composed a letter on his computer, then encrypted and coded the document so any check and test would confirm that it came from Flagg's personal high-security account with a near-zero chance of the data being hacked or compromised. He then e-mailed the document on a high-security line to a technician he trusted, with instructions that in the event of something happening, that the document was sent to a set number of people listed. There was also a promise of a year's supply of bubble gum to the technician to sweeten the risks being taken.

Flagg leaned back and sighed after completing his work. He looked out the window and stared into the clouds. The sun was breaking through, but Flagg couldn't help but thing a storm was coming.


End file.
